Shout of Honor

by Sharon Lee

  "What is the antidote?" she snapped.

  "Physical release. Perhaps I might spar with one of the troop. Or –"

  "The punching bag," she said, in a tone of enlightenment. "I understand."

  She smiled then, and stepped closer to him.

  "I offer, Comrade, physical release. Will you accept?"

  He had no choice; he would never make it across the docks. JinJee was able, as he had just seen demonstrated, and he was not out of control; he had never been one for the full battle frenzy.

  "Yes," he told JinJee Sanchez; "I accept."

  #

  He woke all at once, which was his habit, and took stock, eyes closed, which was also his habit.

  A tantalizingly familiar scent enveloped him; the scent of JinJee Sanchez, that was, entwined with others, less familiar. The surface he lay on was firm, but not so firm as his pallet on-ship. Against his left side was pressed a long warmth, which shifted even as he noted its presence.

  He recalled – last night's attack, the unfortunate triggering of the battle frenzy; JinJee's offer of physical release.

  . . .a release which had not at all been what he had expected, though. . .effective, nevertheless.

  Very effective.

  "You are awake, Comrade?" her voice was much as always, and he smiled, at other memories.

  "I am awake, Comrade," he replied. He hesitated, and added, "Thank you."

  "I do not believe," said JinJee Sanchez, shifting so forcefully that he opened his eyes, and looked up into her face, as she leaned over him, the lean muscles of her torso on full display, "that I wish to enter into a protracted conversation of who is more grateful to whom. We both benefited, and I am neither thankful nor sorry."

  Black raptor's eyes; the mark of the war blade's kiss a potent reminder of her strength. He felt the stirrings of last night's passions, in which the action they had engaged upon had seemed something more than the mere comfortable coupling of comrades.

  "What are you then?" he asked her, even as he wondered after his own emotions.

  "I am pleased," JinJee said, with a long smile. She threw back the blanket which had covered them both, exposing him in full display.

  "Also," she said, gripping him in one strong hand while she met his eyes boldly; "I am eager, as I see that you are. Shall we, again?"

  He lifted one hand to her scar; the other to her breast, and smiled into her bold, warrior's eyes.

  "Yes," he said. "Let us, again."

  #

  They came arm and arm into the Paladin's mess, amid shouting and applause. Attuned to her movements, Vepal paused with her, looking over the pandemonium until it had quieted. Only then did they continue to the commander's table, where a second chair had been hastily placed, and a second place laid.

  They being among her command, Vepal waited to take the second chair until she was seated.

  A soldier guided a serving tray to their table. A steaming cup of brown liquid was set before JinJee before the server looked to him, his hand fluttering between pots and carafes.

  "Your pleasure, sir? We have coffeetoot, Terran tea, citrus juice, berry juice, water."

  "Coffeetoot," Vepal told him, and while it was being poured, JinJee asked.

  "Who won?"

  "McGyver and Hayashi split, ma'am."

  JinJee put her cup on the table.

  "Take them each my compliments," she said, "and collect the five percent for the medical fund."

  "Hayashi put in already, ma'am. Sergeant Pillay's gone to collect from Mac."

  "All in hand, then," JinJee said. "We'll serve ourselves, Thaydo, thank you."

  "Yes, ma'am. Sir."

  The soldier saluted and left them.

  "There is," JinJee said, continuing the discussion they had begun in her quarters, "safety in numbers. While none of us are safe from ambush, you and your small troop, my friend, are considerably more at risk than I, or any of mine. We can double up, offer you guard – "

  "We hardly present a menace, all three walking the deck together," he finished for her, and added, privately: Even supposing that Erthax would not wait that one telling heartbeat before leaping to his commander's defense.

  Which surely no one but a fool would suppose. Still –

  "We have already purchased Recruiter ter'Menth's interest," he pointed out.

  "You make my point for me," she answered, and looked up from her meal.

  "Understand, I do not wish to absorb you. Your command will remain your command. My command will remain mine. We will be allies, which we have already shown ourselves to be, merely cementing our position."

  "I will think on it," he said. "There is a thing that Liadens say, about putting all the wine in one cellar. . ."

  She laughed, and shook her head.

  "Indeed, indeed. However, if we are basing decisions upon Liaden proverbs, it is also said that an ally is better than a cantra-piece."

  Vepal laid his fork down, and met her eyes.

  "These Liadens are very talkative."

  Another laugh, this one softer.

  "That does seem to be so. Well! You will think, and I will await the outcome of your thought. In the meantime, the Paladins will double-up in the common areas. We will no longer put our trust in the station's perimeter alarms."

  "You don't ask my permission for these things," he said, "or my agreement."

  "No," she agreed, calmly, "I don't."

  He drank off the last of his coffeetoot, and pushed back from the table.

  "I to my ship, for now," he said, standing.

  JinJee also stood, and extended her hand. He took it, and they exchanged a brief pressure. The room had grown very quiet.

  "Until again," JinJee said loud enough to reach every ear.

  "Until again," he responded, and bowed slightly over their joined hands before slipping free and leaving her, amidst silence.

  The moment he cleared the mess hall door, cheering broke out, and a chant which seemed to be only her name: "JinJEE JinJEE JINJEE!" Followed by a roar.

  Vepal smiled.

  After all, what more was there to add?

  #

  He was not so fortunate in his hour this shift; the food hub was all but deserted, and he was perfectly visible to the small figure who moved casually, or so it seemed, to intersect his course.

  He could perhaps have lost her; his stride was twice as long as hers. But that would have been pointless, besides showing an unwillingness to be forthcoming and cooperative.

  Vepal slowed his pace.

  "Good-day to you, Recruiting Agent ter'Menth."

  "And to you, Commander Vepal. I am pleased to see that you suffered no ill-effects."

  He looked down at her, but her face was averted.

  "Ill-effects," he repeated. "From what should I have suffered ill-effects?"

  Recruiter ter'Menth was not put off her stride in the least. The look she cast up into his face might be said to express amusement.

  "Doubtless the affair was so trivial it escaped your notice," she said. "I speak of the report of an altercation between certain operatives of the Vinkleer Cooperative and yourself and Commander Sanchez."

  "Oh," Vepal said, still slightly puzzled; "that."

  "Indeed. That. An unfortunate event, to be sure. However, I was pleased to note that all sides worked together to reach a mutually satisfactory solution. One only hopes that Commander Sanchez's co-commander arrives soon, so that we may welcome her and her company entirely into our ranks."

  "I believe she anticipates his arrival daily."

  "Yes, so I have heard. Repeatedly. Well! It was, as I said, good to meet you, Commander, and to see you in such robust good health. I will leave you here, and bid you good-day."

  "Good-day," Vepal said, and paused for a moment to watch the Liaden depart, and the manner of it. She walked light; she walked alert; and for all her lack of size she walked as if she owned the Inago Station and every life on it.

  Which was, Vepal thought, resuming hi
s own stride, a rather disquieting thought, at the least.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Vepal woke, and lay, eyes closed, and body relaxed, questing after that which had wakened him.

  Even as he did so, it came again; a small exhalation, as of air being released, or throttled.

  Air. Being throttled.

  It had come, he thought. Erthax had received his order to end the mission. It was ironic, perhaps, that it came now.

  He took a deep breath, filling his lungs; recalling the breather he had placed in his command locker, years ago, upon taking his first measure of Erthax.

  He rolled off his cot, dropped silently to the floor, extended a long arm, placed his fingertips against the lock. . .and a moment later the breather was around his neck, ready for use.

  The hiss of whistling air came again, which was unnecessary. The air could have been evacuated from this compartment, very quickly, if not noiselessly, via the control panel in the main hall. There was no need to come to his very quarters, to release the air manually. Erthax certainly knew that. But Erthax didn't want him to die quickly, Vepal thought. Oh, no; Erthax wanted him to know what was happening. Erthax wanted to toy with him, as if he were kojagun – prey – rather than a true soldier of the Troop.

  Oh, foolish.

  Vepal rose to his feet, his blood warming agreeably.

  One short stride brought him to the door. He pressed against the wall, making himself as small a target as possible, and triggered the release.

  The door opened, which surprised him. Even a man drunk on revenge might think to destabilize the relative pressures sufficiently to seal the door.

  He trust his foot in the track so that the door would not close, swung out –

  "I yield!" Ochin Rifle whispered, urgently. "Commander. . ."

  Vepal blinked, grabbed the Rifle by the collar and hauled him inside, releasing the door as he did so.

  "Explain yourself!" he snapped.

  Ochin saluted, standing at attention.

  "Sir. Pilot Erthax received a communication, sir. From High Command. Security wrap, and the Secretary's seal. I saw it, and I saw that he did not call you. Sir. Therefore, I stepped aside, where I could watch the Pilot, though I could not read the screens. He read the message, then rose and went to quarters. Sir. I thought – you should know."

  Vepal considered him. The Rifle was a truthful man – how could he be otherwise? Though this tale did much, he realized, to call his simplicity into question. Whether it was a fabrication or the truth; the Rifle's actions had been extraordinary.

  And if the whole tale had been given him by Erthax to tell out again to Vepal? But what would be the purpose of that?

  "At ease," he told Ochin.

  He went to his private console, and opened the message queue. The last message there was from station, reminding them that they would be required to depart, or move their docking inside of the next twenty-six Standard Hours, or face fines.

  "This message," he said over his shoulder to Ochin; "when did it arrive?"

  "Thirty-three minutes ago, Sir."

  So. He had known of Erthax's private account, but he had considered it best to pretend ignorance. And, if indeed this were merely an acknowledgment of a previously filed report – but no. Council high security wrap, and sealed with the Secretary's codes. This had been no mere ack. This was worth accessing, though Erthax would know that his line was no longer secure, nor his operations secret.

  On that thought, he brought up the ship plan, finding himself and Ochin in his quarters, and Erthax –

  But there was no third heat signature, in Erthax's quarters, nor anywhere else in the ship. Vepal took a deep breath.

  The time for subtlety and subterfuge was over.

  He was inside of the Pilot's private queue in a matter of moments. High Command's query was brief: An extraordinary message had been received under Erthax's codes, but sent from an unauthorized source. Had Erthax been compromised? Was this message from him? An explanation by return secure pinbeam was. . .demanded. If, in fact, the message was from Erthax, more details were solicited.

  There was no ack in the sent queue. And Erthax was not on the ship.

  The matter, Vepal thought, was plain. Erthax had made his bargain with Perdition Enterprises. He had gone to meet his contact, to wrest more detail from them – no, he corrected himself, from her. Recruiting Agent ter'Menth, of course, who liked to make mischief when she was bored. He wondered what she had agreed to give Erthax for sending this message – and abruptly straightened, for the answer was obvious, and he must act quickly, on behalf of his own command.

  Vepal spun toward the Rifle, standing yet patiently at attention. Ochin Rifle, loyal to his commander – to his commander, Vepal saw now; not merely to command.

  "You will carry a message to Commander JinJee Sanchez of the Paladin Mercenary Unit," he said sharply. "You will take your kit, and field pack. After delivering the message, you will place yourself under Commander Sanchez's orders. Go, now, and make ready."

  "Commander –" Ochin said, astonishing yet again.

  Vepal stood forward, and put his hand on the Rifle's shoulder.

  "It was well-done, that small hiss of air to wake me. I am pleased with your ingenuity and forethought. A message not to be discovered in the files! You will obey your orders, and you will serve Commander Sanchez as if she were myself. You will at all times protect her as if you are protecting myself and our mission. You are on detached duty; Erthax is no longer in your chain of command, you will not engage with him if you see him. I will recall you when conditions allow."

  He removed his hand.

  "Go now, and make ready."

  Ochin did not like his orders. Very nearly, Ochin protested, a second time, but in the end, he was a Rifle, and Vepal his commander. He saluted, and left, to make ready.

  Vepal penned a brief message for JinJee: Here was Ochin Rifle to receive the training Vepal had discussed with her. He trusted she would find him an apt student.

  That done, he dressed and armed himself, and went to meet Ochin at the lock.

  * * *

  Vepal opened one eye and considered the main board, with its one bright yellow tell-tale.

  Someone had opened the outer lock.

  He opened the other eye and lazily spun the pilot's chair until it faced the open hatchway, and the main hall beyond. His hands were laced over his belt, elbows resting carelessly on the arm controls, and his legs were thrust out before him, crossed at the ankles. The very picture of indolence, with nothing soldierly about him.

  A shadow moved at the end of the hall, and here at last came his tardy pilot, walking very lightly – and freezing in surprise to see the hatch unsealed, and Vepal beyond it.

  "Well met, Pilot!" Vepal said, showing his teeth in a wide grin. "Come in! I've been waiting to talk with you."

  Erthax visibly shook himself and came forward, his tread wary now, and his eyes glinting.

  "Commander," he said, sharp enough to fall outside of the line of insolence, and produced a perfunctory salute.

  "Pilot." Vepal didn't bother to return the salute. "Was Recruiting Agent ter'Menth forthcoming?"

  Erthax did not bother to pretend.

  "I have enough for Command," he said, with a sort of sneering certainty.

  "Rich pillage?" asked Vepal.

  "Yes; and more. A world vulnerable to attack, though occupied by mercenary forces. The Troop stands to gain weapons and materiel, and to rid itself of a considerable number of trained opponents, in one hammer-strike."

  Vepal frowned. Such a target would appeal to Command. And a mixed invasion force meant that the cost of acquiring these benefits might be attractively low. Command would understand those things very well. As for the contract, Vepal thought – what was a contract to the Troop, to bind them when it was time to strike?

  "Coordinates?" he suggested.

  "Not yet," Erthax said. "This will be enough."

  He grinned again, teeth flashing.


  "She gave you to me."

  Vepal moved a lazy hand.

  "Your price. Naturally. My life, and the Rifle's, and a ship to command. She did give you a command?"

  "I will have it as soon as the High Commanders send their agreement, and I sign the contract for them." He paused. "I need the Rifle, of course. But you, Commander – you, I do not need."

  "Recruiting Agent ter'Menth may still have questions for me," Vepal pointed out, watching Erthax's hands.

  "Then, she will need to ask them of me," the Pilot said, and there was the gun, in the left hand, arm swinging up –

  Vepal punched the control under his elbow; the chair spun hard to the left, as he threw himself to the right.

  * * *

  Commander Sanchez considered the note, and again considered the soldier who had delivered it. Ochin Rifle, as he named himself. He held himself well, though there was an edge. His orders, so he had told her, received from the commander himself, had been to deliver the note, and to place himself at her word.

  He had obeyed his orders, had Ochin Rifle. Plainly, JinJee thought, looking into his eyes, he did not like his orders, but he wasn't, after all, required to like his orders, no more than any other soldier.

  "In your opinion," she said now; "is Commander Vepal in danger of his life?"

  There was a slight hesitancy, before a fist rose to strike the opposite shoulder.

  "Commander. Yes, Commander. In my opinion."

  "Thank you. Keep with me, Rifle. Abercrombie, Singh, Henshaw, Pike, Latvala – to me, please. We're going for a walk. Sergeant Pillay!"

  "Ma'am!"

  "Seal up, Sergeant. Disable non-certified personnel seeking to enter our area. Commander Vepal is certified. If he arrives, hold him lightly, and with all respect for his rank – but hold him."

  "Yes, ma'am," Pillay said with enthusiasm. He snapped off a very pretty salute, possibly to soothe Ochin Rifle's feelings, and turned, already shouting out the squad list, and protocols.

  JinJee shook her head. They'd been at dock too long. They'd all been at dock too long; and it was a major miracle that none of the assembled mercs and pirates hadn't started a war yet, out of simple boredom.